


Ten Scenes from Friendship with Alan Moore

by bofoddity



Category: Comics Industry RPF
Genre: Bromance, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Personality quirks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-18
Updated: 2007-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bofoddity/pseuds/bofoddity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friendship with Alan Moore comes with perks. The story of Neil Gaiman and Alan Moore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Scenes from Friendship with Alan Moore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [El Juno (ElJuno)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElJuno/gifts).



> Written for El Juno.

1\. The first time they met face to face, Alan insisted they would wear top hats. "I need to know a person before I recognize them in a crowd," he claimed on the phone, his accent and voice already familiar to Neil. "Details help. Odd details help more. You don't actually have to wear the hat."

Neil didn't, but he did put a red bow around it. The cafe they had agreed to meet in was a popular one, and Neil counted thirty-two amused looks at the hat before Alan finally arrived.

"Traffic," Alan said, delivering the first of many apologies that were to pass telepathically between them before he offered his hand to Neil. "It's good to finally see you in person. Let's drink something to that."

"I could use some tea," Neil admitted, responding to Alan's grip. "Like your hat."

"Pales in comparison to yours." Alan eyed the ribbon, taking his own, plain black hat off. "That ribbon is a nice touch."

"I like to wear something nice for first dates."

It was a bold thing to say to somebody he didn't know that well yet, and for a moment he wondered if it was too bold. But Alan's eyes only lit with approval.

"Date? Consider this first of many to come."

Their friendship was unstoppable after that.

2\. March of The Sinister Ducks might have been a funny song, but it was based on Alan's genuine belief in the evil of ducks. Neil imagined it was something most people would have waited to share with potential friends, but Alan liked to go against cliches. Alan began with his conversion straight away.

"They are creatures of evil." Alan's voice was so grave that Neil hesitated before picking up the package that had just been brought in the mail. On the phone, Alan continued: "They stole my car."

The package was small and hard, and Neil heard no suspicious rattling when he shook it. But he had to know. "Don't tell me you sent the thief to me?"

He almost missed Alan's bitter chuckle. _Bitter. Over ducks._ "As a creature of evil, it was cunning enough to escape. But it left evidence in the garage."

Neil sighed. "I'd better get my gloves."

The evidence turned out to be an old jewelry box, with a feather inside. Neil lifted it for a closer look.

"Looks like a pigeon to me."

There was a moment of disbelieving silence on Alan's end.

"Pigeons are morons. This was a duck's job." The sheer determination in Alan's voice was hard to question, so Neil settled for commenting:

"How tragic." It was the only correct thing to say, really. "What are you going to do about it?"

If Alan had said a thing about calling the police, Neil suspected that would have been too much for him. Instead, Alan said:

"It's time to go preaching."

Later that week, Neil got another package, this time with a cassette inside, 'street performance' written on the label. The sound quality was lousy, but that didn't keep the song from playing in his head for weeks.

3\. What came to rest of his quirks, Alan's vegetarianism was a normal and welcome one. So were his conversion attempts.

"Alan Moore, cooking for me," he teased from the dining room, setting the plates and the cutlery on the table. They were at Alan's home, preparing to find out if Neil's first awkward birthday present to Alan was worthy or not. "Do you think your readers would envy me?"

"Not if they knew they would have to have your patience." There was a pause, then a call from Alan: "All right, this finally looks like it's ready to eat."

"Bring it on." Neil set the last fork in place and everything was done on his part, which was when Alan appeared in sight, carrying a tray with fondue set and plate with cut bread on it. The gentle scent of cheese and onions trailed over to Neil's nostrils, with an emphasis on the onions that most likely wasn't in the recipe.

"Here. Mushroom fondue with French bread." Alan set the tray down on the table, watching the flame on the burner. He waited for the flame to settle before returning to the kitchen. "Hold on, I'll bring the wine."

"Wine? I'm starting to think you're seducing me." Neil moved a finger along the edge of the bread plate, considering an attack. The only thing that stopped him was the feeling that Alan had probably counted the bread pieces, which could only lead to a scolding. He knew from experience that Alan's voice was able to hike very high.

"Well, the recipe was for a romantic dinner." There was a quiet pop in the kitchen, after which Alan returned. "Not the only one I've tried to convert you with, either. Let's say I have a source."

Neil lifted an eyebrow.

"Source that encourages you to seduce me?"

Alan shrugged. "Seduction, converting. I think the line is fine."

Neil just shook his head as Alan poured the wine.

4\. For a long time, Phyllis and Deborah were mysteries to Neil. He knew them as names most of the time, as extra clothes and shoes in Alan's closet. He knew they thought Neil's friendship did good to Alan before he ever heard their voices. Neil was starting to think that's how it was supposed to be until he walked into them kissing.

Well, walk in wasn't exactly the right way to put it; the farthest Neil got was when he pushed the kitchen door open just enough to see them inside, see Phyllis's hand rest gently on Deborah's chin. He pulled the door close again and took a step back, turning to Alan.

"They seem to be home."

"Good. You've avoided each other long enough." Alan turned, trailing back to the living room. Neil hesitated for a moment before following him. "You could have just coughed there, you know. They probably heard us coming in."

Neil glanced briefly over his shoulder, still able to see the door. "I didn't want to disturb them."

Alan huffed. "I disturb them all the time, so trust me, they wouldn't mind."

Something about Alan's tone felt odd to Neil, but he decided not to comment on it. There were things about Alan that he wasn't going to understand as well as others, and his relationship with Phyllis and Deborah definitely counted as one.

"Well, as you said, they will probably come to check the stranger soon." He waited until Alan turned to look at him, spreading his arms. "So. Representable?"

Alan gave him a contemplative look. "You should do just fine." A soft laughter broke out from the kitchen, interrupting them for a moment, after which Alan asked: "How about Mary? Do you think she's up for meeting them, too?"

Neil took a moment for some fake pondering.

"Why not? She has had plenty of practice with you."

Alan chuckled. "Point taken."

5\. One day, Neil felt their friendship was mature enough to handle it.

"Have you ever thought about shaving that beard?"

Alan gave him a puzzled look.

"No."

The question never came up again.

6\. Of his works, Killing Joke was Alan's least favorite. Neil's helpful ear was the first one to hear about it.

"Cripple the bitch. That's what they told me." Alan's finger was tapping against the receiver, a sound that kept distracting Neil. "I just nodded. Didn't even care. Can you tell me what happened to my pride?"

Neil went through the list of safe suggestions in his mind.

"It had a bad day?"

Alan considered that.

"Well, that would explain its absence. It doesn't explain where I got the lousy idea in the first place."

"Laziness? Indifference?" Neil imagined Alan cringing at every suggestion, but he and Neil weren't friends because of easy excuses. "Sometimes you just don't give a damn. Happens to best of us."

There was something eerie about the way Neil had no trouble hearing Alan's snorts, even through the bad phone lines. "I like to think I'm above that," Alan muttered, his tapping finally ceasing.

"In that case you had this coming."

The laughter from the other end was a relief, kind that made Neil's shoulders ease. He hadn't even noticed they had tensed up.

"Maybe you're right." There was a loud creak on the background, indicating that Alan was leaning back in his chair. Neil hoped that was a sign he was feeling better about his embarrassment. "Besides, whoever takes over afterwards, the only way they have is up."

"And you'll just have a dark spot in your history."

"That's right." And that was the end of Killing Joke for them.

Only: The first time the story was called a classic, they both ignored it. Second time was already suspicious, the third and fourth proved their fears true.

"Crap."

7\. It took years of prodding before Alan was ready to choose his favorite from Neil's work, but he settled for Good Omens in the end. Neil wasn't sure what to think of that.

"How can you tell where I end and Terry begins?"

After Neil had moved to the States, it had naturally become harder - and more expensive - for him and Alan to meet. That meant they had to keep the meetings themselves cheap, which often led to sitting in the park. Neil wouldn't have minded that so much if Alan hadn't insisted on keeping a duck watch as well.

"I can't." Alan's head was moving in a slow, stiff pattern, going still from time to time before picking the movement up again. Neil tried his best not to do the same, but friendship with Alan had its effects. "And that's the genius of it," Alan added, reaching to his side for a small bag of bread.

Alan tossed a piece of bread to the ground and waited. Neil watched a pair of sparrows arrive before speaking up:

"That neither of us stands out?"

"You wrote your parts, Terry wrote his. Right?" Alan was about to toss another piece, but halted, picking up a leaf from Neil's coat instead. "Then you wrote over each other's parts."

Neil nodded. "That's how it went."

"So, you slipped into his style, he slipped into yours. You kept rewriting. He continued where you left off, you continued where he did." Alan's hand had been preparing for another toss, but held back when a crow flew in, the sparrows fleeing from its path. Crows weren't as evil as ducks, but they were pretty good at daring Alan to a staring battle. "You didn't need to bark to each other about how the other screwed up."

That was true; the only barking they had done was over when it was proper to wake up the other from his nap. "We worked as one?"

"Exactly! You are universal." Alan's fingers brushed to his shoulder again, while Alan himself kept his eyes firmly on the crow. "You also attract a lot of leaves."

"Universal." Neil shrugged. "All right. Universal."

"Universal." Alan released the leaf, which fluttered towards the crow with the blow of the wind. The crow gave Alan one last stare and flew away. "Explains why you can write about end of the world like you walked out of it."

Neil watched the beaming victory on Alan's face and began to smirk. "I don't know, I think being with you might have inspired me."

"Cynic."

8\. Neither Alan nor Neil were big movie fans - Neil watched them critically, Alan didn't watch them at all - so they didn't tend to get interested in actors. Which meant neither of them had an explanation for their strange thing for Keanu Reeves.

"We like it when people have facial expressions," Alan theorized. "Scientific curiosity. We have the right to know why he doesn't."

That was good enough for Neil. They started their investigation with Bram Stroker's Dracula.

"To his credit, Harker is supposed to be bland," Alan wrote in his mocking review, which arrived in mail two months after they had seen the movie. "In fact, one could say that Reeves does an excellent job of embodying a character that isn't supposed to be a match for Gary Oldman's Dracula. His good job, however, also ensures that there isn't much to remember about his performance."

Their next target was Speed, in which they were curious about if there was going to be any chemistry between Reeves and Sandra Bullock. They were positively surprised.

"Did you see it too? There was vague interest." Honest awe in Alan's voice was a rare sound, even more so on phone than in real life. The fact he had called Neil before his bedtime just to tell him that was no less than touching.

"It was impressive," he agreed. And he meant it: he had been amazed by the way Reeves hadn't needed to express that interest with his face at all. "Also, good night."

Nevertheless, they were both convinced that Speed had been more or less of an accident. Matrix proved them wrong.

"An iconic performance." The comment was followed by an awkward-looking smiley, tucked in comfortable pair of brackets. Alan was a late-comer to use of e-mail, but he was catching up fast with how he could annoy Neil the best. "I was entertained, even. It was a nice experience."

Neil glanced at the second window he had open, where he confirmed the film as a worthwhile watch. For some reason Alan's approval made him feel better about sending the message. He returned to his reply to Alan: "Yes, I believe I even saw his forehead move. I'm starting to have hope for him."

Their relationship with Keanu Reeves was one they enjoyed, and for a long time they were happy. Then Reeves decided to break their hearts.

"John Constantine? I don't think so." Alan was visiting him this time, and Neil had wondered if checking the movie out would be part of that visit. He should have known his friend better than that, remembered that there were things Alan just wasn't going to forgive. "That's it. Keanu and I are over."

And so they were.

9\. Sometimes, Alan was frustrating. Sometimes being with Alan was frustrating. Alan knew that, and he was willing to make up for that frustration. It was impossible not to take advantage of that.

"I strongly dislike you right now."

Neil chuckled, reaching out to push Alan's cap higher so that it wouldn't shadow his eyes so much. "Come on. Red looks good on you."

Truth to be told, red wasn't the best possible color for him, but it had the amazing effect of making him look much more harmless than he actually was. Even his frowning face wasn't enough to spoil it. Alan and Santa-costume were meant to be.

"Well, it doesn't make me look bad." Alan sounded sour, but his tone wasn't entirely miserable, his frown turning real only when he had to lean more forward than usual to see past his belly. "I wouldn't say the same about the pillow, though."

"What kind of Santa doesn't have a belly? It's not my fault your own is lacking in size." Neil glanced at the belly, asking himself if his inner child would like to cuddle up against it. If his inner child liked cuddling at all. "In fact, I think it might need another one."

"Please. I'm panting in this thing already." Alan reached up to pull the cap off from its tail, the bell clinging as he brushed a hand over his grey hair, now less massive than it had been when they first met. Still, he didn't need a wig to look as hairy as a Santa should. "I suppose I should be grateful that I don't have to do this for all my friends."

"Not without a proper payment, at least."

"True." Alan was holding the cap with both hands, ready to put it back on, but he halted, pinning Neil with a glare instead. "Speaking of payment, I think it's time I get a little compensation for this."

Neil blinked, unsure what Alan meant before he noticed the way Alan tried not to look up, tilting his head back himself. His eyebrows arched when he detected something green from the roof.

"Alan," he said, looking back to his friend. "If you wanted a kiss, I could have done without the mistletoe."

"Think of it as a romantic gesture. One of its kind." With that, Alan pulled the cap back on, stepping closer to Neil. "Now, pucker up."

Alan being Alan, he naturally didn't wait for Neil to do that, cupping Neil by the back of his head to draw him closer, fingertips settling in the nape of Neil's neck. Just as naturally, Neil couldn't bring himself to mind as Alan's mouth descended onto his, tasting of gingerbread and all things Christmas.

10\. Alan Moore was a man who wore a top hat to a meeting with a potential lifetime friend and a blue bowler hat to his own wedding, but had things gone a little differently, Neil had no doubt he would have married Alan himself.


End file.
